


broke above, fell bellow (deeper down he went)

by VeteranKlaus



Series: Father, Your Honour [2]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Klaus Hargreeves, Ben Hargreeves Lives, Brainwashing, Child Abuse, Dark Klaus Hargreeves, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, He's not malicious but he's a bit of an asshole, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Isolation, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Luther Hargreeves is a good bro, Major Character Injury, Mental Health Issues, Possession, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Sober Klaus Hargreeves, Suicide Attempt, Temporary Character Death, Unethical Experimentation, Violence, Whump, kind of, this is like ages 8-29 btw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:48:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26011384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeteranKlaus/pseuds/VeteranKlaus
Summary: Reginald always said he hardly scratched the surface of his powers, and Klaus just wants to make his father proud.
Series: Father, Your Honour [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1884181
Comments: 49
Kudos: 242





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Number Four trains privately, coincidentally, four times a week. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suggest checking out the tags to this fic, but warnings for each chapter will be in the end notes. Nothing should be too graphic until the ball starts rolling, but just a head's up.   
> This covers pretty much ages 8-29 in the Academy.   
> The kids aren't named yet where this starts off and so are still referred to their numbers until then. 
> 
> Anywho, massive shout out to Penn for our discussions, and to everyone else I spoke to about this, you're all evil legends and I love you <3

Number Four trains privately, coincidentally, four times a week. 

He trains on a Monday, a Wednesday, a Thursday, and a Saturday, leaving right after dinner to be able to get to the graveyard at a semi-reasonable time. 

Today is a Monday. Their dinner is served, ready and waiting for them, cooked to perfection and measured precisely. The clink of cutlery scraping against plates echoes around the table in place of any chatter. Reginald doesn’t allow them to talk at the table, although that doesn’t often stop them from muttering and whispering to one another, and if not that, then pulling faces and trying to speak through little gestures. 

Instead of trying to participate in any silent or near-silent discussions going on around them, Number Four pokes at his food with no appetite. Once dinner is finished and the dishes have been washed, he will be expected to gather his coat and meet Reginald at his car, and they will head to the graveyard for his private training, like they always do these Mondays. 

Four is - not afraid, no. His stomach is just unsettled. He doesn’t want to risk being nauseous and sick. So, he picks at his food, cuts it up and pushes it around his plate. Usually, Reginald would force him - or any of them that didn’t finish their meal - to stay at the table after everyone had gone until they had eaten it, because their meals were measured to be perfectly healthy for them, but sometimes Four could get away with it thanks to having his training immediately after dinner. 

He tries to eat what he can, but his stomach bubbles beneath his skin and swallowing feels heavy, and he keeps getting distracted by the way the man in the corner gags on his own blood. 

The sound of eating slows around him, and then One is gathering their dishes to clean them. He frowns at Four’s plate, gaze bouncing uncertainly to their father, but Reginald is quiet. One gathers the plate, and then hurries off to the sink.

“Dismissed,” he announces, and no one needs to be told twice before they hurry to go to their bedrooms, and Four doesn’t need to be told to stay. He pushes his chair in, exhales, and looks expectantly at his father. Standing at the head of the table, Reginald tugs on his sleeves and smooths out his clothes, and finally turns his gaze to him. “Gather your coat then, Number Four,” he says, as if irritated that he hasn’t gone to do so already, as if he wouldn’t also ask him what he was doing if he left without permission. Nonetheless, Four simply bobs his head in a nod and hurries off to do as told.

His coat hangs up near the front door. It’s cold outside, especially this time of year, but the graveyard is always unnaturally colder. The ghosts give off a chill that reaches deeper than his skin, and the graveyard is full of them. If Four didn’t also run so cold normally, he’s sure he would have run the risk of hypothermia multiple times by now. 

Reginald finds him by the door, and he is quiet when they walk outside and head to the car. Like always, Four settles in the back, and as the drive begins, he turns his gaze to the window.

They don’t often get to leave the Academy except for special occasions or for training, and not all of them have training that requires them to leave the Academy. One, Two, Three and Five can train in the Academy, meanwhile Four and Six have to leave. Although Four has made his father aware of the fact that there are ghosts in the Academy, his father still prefers to train him in the graveyard where there is an abundance of ghosts, while Six’s powers need more room to train in. It’s a rare chance to see the city that they aren’t allowed to go out in, and Four loves it.

He loves seeing all the people out on the streets, wandering around and looking as if they are from a completely different planet from him, with no uniforms and wild hairstyles and colours; all the lights and the buildings. He can only catch things in flashes, or whenever they stop at a red traffic light, but he tries his best to memorise all the things he sees. 

He wishes they didn’t have to always wear the uniform they do, and he imagines what he would do if he could choose any hairstyle he wanted - if he could even change the colour. He tried to ask Grace if he could do that, once, but the answer was a firm no. They had to look presentable, and it would be silly if he was seen representing the Umbrella Academy with wild, untamed pink hair, wouldn’t it?

So, Four would not be able to change his hair into something unique and eye-catching, but he could still appreciate the glimpses of people who had done that when he leaves the Academy. He makes a game of it, sometimes; tries to count how many people he can see who has odd hairstyles or bright hair colours. It helps distract him from the journey and the destination.

Today, he counts six people, and then they’re heading further out and there are less and less living people around. The only unique thing about the remaining people he catches sight of is their injuries. 

Sometimes - a lot of the time - it is incredibly easy to tell whether a person is dead or not, but sometimes it isn’t so obvious. The blood and the injuries are disturbing to look at, especially when the ghosts with more violent deaths seem to be the louder ones too, but there’s something deeply unsettling about mistaking a ghost for a living person; the concern when approaching them, followed by the sudden fear or horror upon realisation, and the way the feeling of being watched, more closely than usual, sticks around for a while. 

He’s trying to get better at that too, though. At approaching them, at getting over the silly little emotions he feels towards the ghosts - the fear, the upset, the shock. It might take time, but he’s determined to do it; those silly emotions are detrimental to the progress of his training and powers, as his father has told him, and they just get in the way and do nothing but push him back. 

Four braces himself as they get closer to the graveyard; focuses on keeping his breathing steady, on making sure his hands don’t shake and when they do he fists them in his shorts, and he forces himself to look out at it as they slow to a stop, as if staring at the silhouettes of headstones and lumbering shadows head-on will snuff out the unease in his stomach. 

Reginald gets out and so does Four. He remains neutral when faced with the unmuffled sounds of moaning and wailing. He sticks close to Reginald’s side as they enter through the graveyard’s rusting gates, if only just to be sure he can hear whatever his father says over the ruckus around him, and he keeps his eyes forwards when they follow the gravel trail amongst the gravestones, deeper and deeper into the cemetery. 

Surrounded by moaning and crying corpses, all beginning to get curious by his presence, Four feels a sliver of panic rise up in himself, squeezing around his guts. It is crowded and he can’t help but feel claustrophobic in here, with the urge to turn and run back out, to cover his ears in an attempt to block out all the miserable sounds around him. 

He doesn’t, though. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, curling them into tight fists, and keeps his gaze forwards. Reginald has yet to say what his training is tonight. He hopes, as he catches slivers of the building far ahead of himself, that it has nothing to do with the mausoleum. 

Reginald pauses, looking around the place with narrowed eyes, and then he pulls out a journal and a pen, opening it to a fresh page. “Tonight,” he says, and Four strains his ears to listen to him. “You are going to manifest a ghost into corporeality, and hold it for five minutes, Number Four.” As he says this, he fishes for a stopwatch, frowning at it. 

When Four manifested the ghosts before, it was brief and quick. It happened lightning fast and he didn’t know what he was doing. He still isn’t entirely sure how he does it, and the training sessions since the one in the mausoleum have been a hit and miss as to whether or not he is going to actually be able to do it - although Reginald refuses to let them wrap the training session up until he manages to do it, and so sometimes it takes them hours to finally return to the Academy. 

Managing to do it and keep the ghost corporeal for five minutes seems like a nearly impossible task. 

“Well, Number Four? Get on with it. I’ll begin the timer as soon as I can see a spirit,” urges Reginald, and so Four shoves aside his skepticism in his own powers and peers around himself. Ghosts have begun to lumber their way over, curious and desperate, drawn to him like a moth to light. He tries to pick out one he thinks looks less angry and less likely to try and hurt him like those ones in the mausoleum did, but it’s a hard job when all of them seem to only exist as an embodiment of hatred and fury. 

In the end, he goes for a girl who isn’t so obviously dead, save for the blue lips and the water puddling around her when it hasn’t rained for over a week. She stares back at him with dark, empty eyes, and she speaks a language he can’t understand.

Four will make this ghost corporeal. He tells himself it over and over again, and tries to recreate that feeling from the mausoleum, tries to reach that inky well of power residing somewhere within himself. 

An hour passes, or some time close to that, Four can’t quite tell, and the ghost has remained incorporeal. Reginald’s gaze feels heavy as he stares down at him and his cheeks burn bright with frustration and embarrassment. Ghosts have gathered closer and he can feel himself getting worked up, getting overwhelmed, struggling to concentrate when hands keep phasing through his body and chilling him to the core, when his head is pounding thanks to the nonstop crying echoing all around him, and Reginald stands out among the ghosts, face disapproving and disappointed, always disappointed, and-

The little girl grabs him. Four gasps in surprise, startling, but sure enough his hands are glowing a faint blue. Reginald doesn’t even startle as the ghost comes into his view; he just starts the timer.

And then the ghost’s hands fall through him. The timer stops, and Four lets out a frustrated sound, trying to grapple for his powers again.

“Disappointing, Number Four. Ten seconds,” says his father, loud and clear over all the ghosts. “Again.”

Four tries again. He tries, and tries, and tries, and sometimes he can feel his powers just dashing out of his reach before he can wrestle it under his control, and sometimes he manages to snatch it only for it to slip between his fingers after a few seconds. Each time this happens, Reginald restarts the timer and waits for him to do it again. 

It is dizzying, and exhausting, and humiliating. Four feels tears prick his eyes as time goes on and he can’t quite tell why, if it’s from how burnt out he feels or how frustrated he is that he can’t even keep a ghost corporeal for five short minutes, or if it’s from being overwhelmed in the graveyard. Perhaps it’s a bit of all. Nonetheless, it doesn’t matter because he knows that they aren’t going to leave until Four has done what Reginald has asked of him, even if that means they return to the Academy after breakfast.

Tired as he is, Number Four hardly notices when the ghost touches him again. She grabs him, gurgles words he can’t understand, and he grapples a little with her but luckily for him, she doesn’t seem intent on trying to hurt or kill him. And then Reginald is tucking aside the timer, and telling him five minutes have gone by. The pressure building in his bones abates and the ghost phases through him again, and Four stumbles with a sudden wave of dizziness. He struggles to remain upright, and he seeks his father out amongst the crowd of people surrounding him, only to see him already walking back in the direction of the graveyard gates and the car. He must have missed the dismissal.

Desperate not to get lost in this maze of ghosts - to not be left alone here, alone except for the dead who hate him so much, alone without his father because Reginald is too disappointed to spend a second longer watching Four fail again and again and again - he scurries after his father, nearly tripping up multiple times in his haste. 

“Dad,” he calls, voice swallowed by the uproar of cries around him. He knows his father can’t hear that, though, so he keeps talking. “Dad, is - is that it? Can we go home now?”

Reginald keeps pushing forwards and Four has to glance down at his hands to make sure that he hasn’t made anymore ghosts corporeal, reassuring to himself that Reginald can hear him; he probably just doesn’t want to talk to him after how pathetic he was this training session. It took him hours to be able to hold a ghost in a corporeal form for five minutes. What use is that going to be in the future, when they go on missions? What use is that at all?

Four gets in the car with him, relief flooding him at being able to sit down, at the warmth that greets him in the vehicle - he’s shivering, teeth chattering, hands shaking. As the car starts, Reginald’s gaze meets his in the car’s mirror.

“Tonight’s training was thoroughly disappointing, Number Four,” he tells him, and Four barely suppresses a flinch. “I expect better from a member of the Umbrella Academy.”

Burrowing into his coat, Four forces himself to nod despite the way a pressure builds up beneath his chest. “I’m sorry, Dad,” he mumbles, tongue numb in his mouth. It’s just - it’s hard. It’s draining and exhausting and plain hard to do, and Four wishes it were easier, wishes he could do better and make his father proud of him. For the first time, he thinks, because all Four has succeeded in doing is disappointing him.

His eyes sting with tears again and he wrenches his gaze away from the mirror, looking instead out of the window again. He sets his jaw, teeth grinding together, and fights to hold his tears back. He doesn’t want to be such a disappointment, and he’s trying so hard, but it obviously isn’t hard enough. Four doesn’t know what else to do. It seems impossible, and he can’t imagine how he’s ever going to be able to control the ghosts. 

He has to try harder, he tells himself. He’s being a crybaby when he should be taking this as a glaringly obvious sign to just - try harder, in every way he can. Swiping furiously at his eyes, Number Four watches the city lights go by outside the car window, and lets his frustration simmer beneath his skin, trying to direct it into fuel to use to push himself. He has private training again on Wednesday, and he’ll do better. 

He has to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this, feel free to let me know with a kudos or a comment, it's all greatly appreciated! If you have any questions, feel free to shoot them too.


	2. Chapter 2

Four wishes there was a way to make the ghosts quiet. 

He knows of a way to get rid of them, but he can’t do that. (He can’t, he can’t get rid of them, because what kind of coward tries to get rid of their own powers? Dad would be furious, again, and disappointed - even more so than he already is.)

The ghosts are just - so loud. No matter how hard he might press his hands against his ears, it does nothing to muffle the sounds of the ghosts; all that crying, and begging, and screaming. It gives him a headache that never seems to really go away, and it chases sleep away from him despite how exhausted he might be. Curled up on his bed, eyes heavy with fatigue, Four can’t fall asleep.

He had hoped that using his powers would have tired him out enough to fall asleep, and it certainly tired him out. Yet here he was, still unable to fall asleep as the seconds ticked by into minutes into hours. With his luck, he’ll end up falling asleep at the table over breakfast, and then Reginald will yell at him and have to do extra duties today and he’ll get punished, but it’s not his fault. The ghosts are just never quiet.

Four gives up on his poor attempt at pretending he’ll be able to fall asleep, curled up on his bed with his back to the three ghosts in his bedroom, hands clamped over his ears. It’s never worked before, and he was silly to think it would somehow work tonight

They aren’t allowed to leave their bedrooms after curfew, but they all do it anyway. Sometimes Reginald catches them, sometimes he doesn’t; he still isn’t entirely sure if he finds out because of the cameras around the Academy or because Grace or Pogo tells him.

Four doesn’t want to upset his father any more than he already has with the lack of progress he made in his training, but he just wants a break from the ghosts in his bedroom, and maybe Grace can help him fall asleep.

Quietly, or what he hopes is quietly, Four slides out of bed, tip-toes around the ghosts in his room and shivers when their hands fall through him, and he slips out of his bedroom and makes his way to where Grace should be.

She sits at the top of the stairs every night, staring at a wall covered in paintings. Four used to wonder why she never went to her own bed, but now he wonders if she even has a bedroom. 

Despite being perfectly still and unresponsive, as soon as Four gets a little closer she blinks, eyes brightening, and then she turns to look at him as something pulls away from her neck. “Number Four,” she says, standing up and closing the distance between them. “What are you doing up? You know it’s past your bedtime right now, you should be asleep.”

“I know, Mom,” he says, fiddling with his sleeves as he looks up at her. “But I can’t fall asleep.”

Grace blinks at him. “You know you need to go back to your bedroom, bumblebee,” she says, voice all gentle and soft.

“I know, I know,” he repeats, shaking his head. “But - can I have a drink?”

Grace’s head tips to the side a little. “Well, I suppose we can do that quickly,” she agrees, and she slips her hand into his as they wander into the kitchen. It feels weird to be in the kitchen alone, with none of his siblings around and without Reginald standing by the head of the table. He sits down in his usual seat whilst Grace goes to gather him a drink. She should get him a glass of water - something quick and easy, so he can drink it just as quickly and be in bed in a hurry, because Reginald doesn’t let them leave after curfew.

But instead she starts making him a hot chocolate instead, taking her time to do it. She hums as she works. The ghosts from his bedroom didn’t follow him down, so he can make the quiet tune out. He doesn’t recognise the song. 

As she comes over, he says, “my head hurts.”

Grace sets his hot chocolate down on the table in front of him and sits down beside him; she runs one hand through his hair gently. “I’m sure getting some sleep tonight will help with that,” she tells him. Four isn’t sure how to tell her that the headache never really goes away no matter how much sleep he gets. 

He curls his hands around his hot chocolate, blowing across the surface before taking a sip. As he does, Grace’s fingertips gently run over his wrists; over the bruises there, fresh from his training. He didn’t notice that the ghost left them there, a mark of her own fingers. He watches Grace with an odd expression, but she just twitches and straightens up; resumes running her fingers through his hair.

“Drink up, we don’t want that getting cold now, do we?” She muses. 

“Will you tell Dad about tonight?” He asks, staring up at her. Her fingers pause briefly in his hair, and she offers him a small smile.

“If you promise to try your best to go to sleep after you finish your hot chocolate, I promise not to.”

Four offers a small, grateful smile to her. He doesn’t want his father to have any more reasons to be annoyed at him, but he couldn’t stand being in his bedroom any longer and Grace’s presence is comforting.

He finishes his hot chocolate and Grace sets the dish aside in the sink before returning to his side. She holds out her hand and he sighs, but he made a promise to her. He takes it, and together they start to head back to the bedrooms. 

He wonders if any of his other siblings are awake at this time. Sometimes, they sneak into one another’s bedrooms at night - admittedly usually earlier than now, but still. Sometimes Six comes into his bedroom if he can’t sleep and they’ll talk and Four will do his best to distract him, because he knows why Six has come into his room. Sometimes Four goes to Two’s bedroom, but Two is grumpy when he’s tired. It’s always a fun distraction though.

Four thinks that he might have snuck into One’s room a few times, too. Years ago probably, with how hazy the memories are. Probably around the time they started really understanding their powers, sort of. One was strong, and One naturally seemed to take on the role of trying to be there for everyone because he was the strongest, and Four was haunted by monsters and wanted his brother to keep him safe until he realised that One couldn’t fight these monsters for him.

He doesn’t talk to One so often, these days. One is everything Four wishes he could be; brave, and strong, and confident, and in control. Four is afraid, and weak, and useless. 

Maybe he ought to talk to One more again. 

But not now, because Grace is opening his bedroom door. One of the three ghosts have left, and another one has quietened down to whimpering in the corner, but there’s still one that cries and wails loudly. 

“Can you-” he pauses, swallows, and looks up at Grace. “Can you stay with me? Until I fall asleep? Please?”

Grace smiles down at him gently, but she stays still and silent in that way she does when she’s trying to decide what to do when something goes even a little against Reginald’s rules or wishes. Eventually, though, she nods her head with a fond sigh.

“Just for tonight, Four. Now come on, you need your sleep.” She nudges him forwards a little. Victorious, Four hurries over to his bed, making sure there’s another room for his mother to sit on the edge. Grace tucks him in and sits down, and after a moment, she begins to talk; retelling him some random story she probably used to read to them years ago.

It helps, though. Four tries to focus on her words rather than the ghost’s; focuses on the way she strokes his cheek and runs her fingers through his hair, and it makes some of the tension in his body bleed away, lulls him closer and closer to sleep. 

When he wakes up, Grace is gone, and is head is sore, and the ghost is still yelling.

### 

Reginald doesn’t always come down for breakfast. He’s a busy man, says Grace; he has a lot of work to do, so he’ll stay upstairs some times to do some more work in the morning. They’re still not supposed to talk, and they all stop if Pogo comes in, but they get away with talking when it’s just Grace overlooking them.

With how little dinner he ate yesterday, he’s eager to get to his breakfast, ignoring the way his siblings all delve eagerly into loud, animated conversations, save for the exception of an ever-quiet Six and a half-asleep Two, who looks close to trying to stab Five with his spoon with the way Five boasts about completing some dumb physics equations last night. Five likes to boast about that; likes to imagine he’s the smartest of the bunch, but Four notices the way he stares in jealousy when Four lingers after dinner to go to his private training with their father.

Their private training is a good thing, and it’s fair to feel jealous that Four is getting more of it than he is, especially when Five is all competitive and strives to master his powers. Four doesn’t share his same enthusiasm for his training, even if he should, because training is a good thing. It’s good for them, and Four is grateful for how much he gets of it. He needs it because he can’t even materialise a ghost at will. 

His grip on his cutlery tightens in frustration, and he glances at the bruises peering out of his sleeves, glaring up at him all mockingly. He needs his extra training, and if he continues to do so badly then he ought to ask for even more of it.

(Something in Four rebels against the idea of going to that graveyard every night instead of four times a week, but Four shoves it down before he can even process it.)

He slows his eating down a little bit just to eavesdrop on his siblings’ conversations. They have classes today, and a couple of them have their own private training with Reginald at different times, and they have their own regular private studying where Four will be expected to read the books on spirituality and hauntings that Reginald got him. They’re not very useful, but then again, nothing related to his powers seems to be.

Whoever wrote those books clearly couldn’t actually see ghosts, because they would know that what they had written is completely useless, and false, and probably a little rude to the ghosts, too. Still, Four has to read them, and maybe he can steal a sentence or two and actually apply them to his powers in some roundabout way. 

After breakfast comes their first class, and after that their second, and their third. Reginald lingers around sometimes, presence encouraging them all to keep their heads down and work, or at least pretend to do so, and for Two to stop throwing balls of crumpled up paper around at everyone for five minutes. Four moves seats multiple times in an attempt to put some distance between himself and a particularly loud ghost in the room so he can try to actually hear what is being said, but it seems to just come off as an attempt to get attention and disrupt everyone, and Pogo ends up making a note of it that will likely end up being sent to his father, and Reginald will punish him for it.

Four’s stomach drops, and despite the way the ghost wails nearly directly into his ear, he resolves himself to staying in the seat he’s in and just straining harder to hear, or trying to watch Pogo’s lips and form the words together from the motion instead. It works only a little bit, but he makes do.

Four doesn’t like classes. It’s always hard for him to concentrate and always ends up with him being told off because of it, but if nothing else, Four excels in medical training compared to everyone else, which shouldn’t be so surprising when he’s surrounded by a variety of bodies he can look at, and some even talk to him and describe their injuries in detail and how it happened, but nonetheless never actually stops surprising everyone and it makes him a little annoyed to think his whole family underestimates him like that, but he supposes he’s not given them any reason to think otherwise. He’ll have to change that. 

He takes more books with him to his bedroom to study whenever he gets free time to do so. He needs to train his powers if he wants to make progress and wants to make Reginald proud of him, but he knows that progress in his powers won’t outweigh the disappointment of failing his other classes, even if Four doesn’t think they’re necessarily that important. He has to balance both, even if it’s hard. He just has to accept it and push on, because there’s nothing else to do. 

A little voice in the back of his head reminds him of the bar, and of how quiet it had been when he had drank. If he had just a little, then he would be able to concentrate in class.

But then he thinks of how angry Reginald had been, and he chastises himself for slipping into thoughts that will lead him inevitably down a path of trying to run from his powers, and he can’t do that. He can’t. He just has to try harder.

That night, he doesn’t seek out Grace again, even when drums pound in his head and his ears ache from listening to the way the ghost in his bedroom screams. He simply turns his back to it, sitting on his bed and facing the corner. He sits the textbook he took earlier on his lap, uses a flashlight to be able to read, and he tries to focus on it and study, make up for his tardiness in class earlier. One of his hands end up clamped over one ear, and he presses the other one down against his hunched shoulder; narrows his eyes in forced concentration at the textbook as frustration bubbles up in his chest. 

It’s pathetic, really, how simple this should be. He should be able to just focus in class; should be able to put extra time into his studies at night, but he’s been stuck rereading the same sentence for ages, trying and failing to process it, constantly distracted by the way the ghost circles his room and cries and draws more ghosts’ attention to him. No matter how hard he tries, he just can’t get past that sentence, and the ghost doesn’t shut up, and he can see Reginald’s face and the disappointment etched into it, and the way his siblings giggle at what they think is him messing around only to quickly grow tired of it, when Klaus just wants the ghosts to  _ shut up  _ and let him focus.

He slams his textbook shut with a cry of frustration, and he throws his head into his hands, trembling with how worked up he’s gotten himself.

With all the noise in his bedroom, he doesn’t notice the lightbulb of the lamp on his bedside table shatter as he slams his book shut, or the way the light from his ceiling swings with a sudden breeze. 

He just wishes the ghosts were quiet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A,,, babie


	3. Chapter 3

Four likes Six.

It’s hard not to, really. Six is quiet a lot of the time, keeping to himself and burying his nose in his books. He’s good at breaking up fights or arguments, and despite all his gentleness and quietness, something that might normally be easy to take advantage of, he has The Horror that assures they can’t exactly pick on him either, or afford to  _ not  _ listen to Six when he does speak. It’s clever, Four will give him that. 

But even without the respect to Six’s strong and dangerous powers, Four likes him. They might not be close, but he likes him nonetheless. He doesn’t get into arguments with him like he does with Two, and they have some kind of understanding between them. He’s pleasant to be around, and a good listener, a good negotiator, and he’s always happy to help someone study, most of the time. What he might lack in confidence or eagerness for training, he makes up in how nice he is, and how Reginald seems to like him, too. He might not praise him like he does One, but if he slacks off a little or falls behind a little, he doesn’t lecture him quite the same way he does to the likes of Four or Two. 

Maybe that’s got something to do with The Horror.

Besides that, though, Four likes him, and he can talk to him about certain things that he can’t talk to his other siblings about. 

Sometimes, when the ghosts are particularly loud and the nightmares are bad, Four will sneak out of his room and across to Six’s, and sometimes Six will come across to his room in the middle of the night, arms wrapped around his stomach and looking for a distraction. Four has a makeshift version of snakes and ladders that he drew once, copying the board game in the attic because he didn’t want to take it in case he got caught, and sometimes they’ll play that. Sometimes Six will read aloud, and sometimes, on rare occasions, they’ll talk.

Six tells him things that he doesn’t think he’s told anyone else. Four tells him things, too, though he hasn’t recently.

He’s tried to explain the ghosts before, when his siblings asked about them, but they never really seem to get it and he’s beginning to give up on trying to get them to understand - although, with the new revelation of him being able to manifest the ghosts, he had briefly considered the idea of just showing them before he realised that perhaps it’s better if his siblings don’t understand. The ghosts still give him nightmares, the ghosts -  _ used  _ to scare him. He’s sure they’d scare his siblings, since they wouldn’t be used to them. It’s probably for the better that they don’t understand, then.

But Six - Six listens, more than the others. When Four described them as scary, he believed him, and told him The Horror scared him, too. That they did their own thing - that they were their own thing - and Six wasn’t in full control of them. Just like Four was with the ghosts.

It was nice, sometimes, to have that simple understanding. They don’t often talk about their powers - neither of them particularly like talking about them - or even their training, and even less so as time passed by and they got older. 

As of late, Four hasn’t sought Six out. It was nice, having his comfort or distracting himself with him, but that’s just one of the things that helps him slip up with his powers. He can’t keep running from his powers, that much is clear, and he can’t keep relying on other people to coddle him, and hell - Six would benefit from it, too. 

So, Four stops seeking Six out and doesn’t intend to do it again, even if the ghosts are particularly loud and nasty some nights and he misses playing snakes and ladders with him. He had assumed Six wouldn’t seek him out either, but he never actually spoke to his brother about stopping their nightly meetings, so he’s only partly surprised when there’s a quiet knock on his bedroom door in the middle of the night, barely heard over the ghost pacing around his bedroom, and then Six lets himself in. 

Quickly, Four drops his hands from his ears and sits up a little. Without needing to be told, Six comes over and sits on the other end of his bed, moving the covers out of his way.

“Uh, hi,” says Four, tipping his head to the side. 

“Hi,” utters Six. He has his arms wrapped around his stomach. 

So, it’s one of those nights. He shouldn’t be surprised; Six had training earlier today. The Horror is usually more active, apparently, after training.

“Snakes and ladders?” He offers, because his brother has this - odd expression on his face that Four doesn’t like, and while he thinks these little meetings might be stunting their progress and that it would do Six some good to stop festering his fear with Four, but he also can’t just kick his brother out of his bedroom.

Six shakes his head slightly, dismissing his offer for a distraction, so Four sighs and gets a little more comfortable. He has to strain to hear over the ghost continuously pacing his room, leaving blood in her wake, but he’s determined to block her out - block all of them out.

“What’s up, then?” He asks, and he pokes Six’s thigh with his toe.

Six toys with his lower lip between his teeth, hesitant, and in the dim light of Four’s bedside lamp, his eyes glisten wetly.

“I don’t want The Horror,” he says, not for the first time.

“I know,” says Klaus, rolling the hem of his pyjama shirt between his fingers.

“It doesn’t work. It’s never going to work,” Six declares, and Four frowns at him.

“What?”

Finally, Six meets his eyes. “Training,” he clarifies, voice sad and wobbling. “It hardly helps; I can’t - I can’t control them, and I - I won’t be able to-”

“Six,” sighs Four, shuffling closer. He tries to ignore the way the ghost in his bedroom keeps pacing, keeps wailing, despite the way Four tries to will it not to, despite the way Four has powers over ghosts and yet he can’t even control this one - or any of them. 

His brother looks as if he expects Four to empathise with him like he used to during nights like these. “The training helps,” says Four instead, and Six blinks at him.

“No it doesn’t,” he insists. “It doesn’t, Four-”

“It  _ will _ ,” says Four. “You just need to keep trying, and it’ll get easier. Dad knows what he’s doing.”

Six blinks at him with wide eyes. “What?”

He lifts his head up, meeting his brother’s gaze head-on, feeling a little more confident. “Dad knows what he’s doing - you just have to keep trying. It’ll work out.”

“It  _ doesn’t _ , Four. It doesn’t and I - I’m  _ scared _ , Four-”

“You know what Dad says - it takes hard work and patience, and - fear makes it all worse, right? You hold yourself back because of it, and you don’t - you know,  _ rise to your potential,  _ because of it. Dad says-”

“I know what Dad says,” Six cuts him off, face screwed up. “But it doesn’t work like that - you understand, with the ghosts-”

“No,” Four says too quickly. “No, Dad was right about it - I,” he sighs, reluctant and heavy, glancing at the ghost in his bedroom. He feels a flicker of determination shoot through him and he turns back to face Six, holding his head higher. “I  _ was  _ scared, but I’m - over it. It’s getting better, and I’m not scared, and - it’s better.”

Six blinks at him, and he presses his lips tightly together. Something that Four can’t quite place flickers over his features, twisting his face for a moment, before he settles back down. He blinks back the tears that had previously been in his eyes, looks away and swallows. 

“Four…” he mumbles. His hand flexes over his stomach and Four hopes he got through to his brother, if at least a little. He doesn’t want to be rude or upset him, but Reginald knows best. He knows what they’re doing with their powers, he knows how to train them, he just - he’s right. 

If he wasn’t right, then why would One be making so much progress? Why would One get so much praise? Why would Three be able to use her powers so casually? Obviously, it isn’t Reginald in the wrong, but Four instead. If he just - if he tried harder, he would be training nearly thoughtlessly like Two could now. If he just  _ tried harder,  _ his powers would be like an extension of himself, like Five’s. If he tried harder, maybe Reginald would be proud of him. 

Resolutely, Four says, “you can’t control something you’re scared of.”

Six swallows again, blinks a few times and looks around his bedroom. He looks suddenly very tired. His thumb rubs over his stomach absently and he stares at the door. 

Four didn’t want to upset him, but he has the feeling that he did anyway. Awkwardly, he offers, “snakes and ladders?”

Six shakes his head slowly, side to side, and shimmies to the edge of his bed before standing up. “I think I’m… just gonna go to sleep,” he murmurs. Four blinks, slumping back on his bed and shrugging. He probably should be trying to sleep too, what with the busy day ahead; he has combat training and private training. He can’t be sluggish and tired throughout it, especially when he’s not yet actually won a sparring battle with any of his siblings. The tally chart is slowly beginning to fill up, and Four can’t fall behind on that, too.

His head hurts, though. The ghost is still here, still loud, still chasing away his sleep. He almost wishes Six would stay for a game or two of snakes and ladders.

But Six heads to the door, lingering in the doorway for only a few moments. “Goodnight,” he says, almost going unheard, voice drowned out by a hacking sob from the ghost in his bedroom.

“Goodnight,” says Four, watching his brother go to sneak back to his own bedroom. Maybe what he said will help Six, even if it might have upset him tonight. Four understands where he’s coming from, but the only advice he can offer him is everything Reginald has already told them, and he knows coddling his brother will just encourage his fear to grow and then where will Six be with his powers?

As bad as Four is now. 

Four knows he’s the worst of them all, sans Seven solely because she doesn’t have powers, but even then at least she’s good in class. Four is the worst of them all and he knows it, and he’s  _ trying,  _ he is, but it’s  _ not good enough,  _ and Four just wants to be good enough-

Four wants to be more than  _ just enough.  _ Than the tolerable bare minimum. Four isn’t necessarily competitive; he doesn’t want to necessarily  _ beat  _ them or be better than them, because it isn’t their approval he wants, but it hurts to see the way One lights up when Reginald showers him in praise and the way Five burns through textbooks and has to have some bought specifically for him, whilst Four feels as if he is falling behind them all. It’s only inevitable that, unless Four picks up his slack, he is going to be left behind some day. 

With Six out of his room, he almost feels upset without his brother, but Four is never really  _ alone.  _ He turns his gaze from his door finally and looks to the ghost in his bedroom. His jaw wobbles as he wails low in his throat, and one arm swings limply by his side. His eyes are shut tightly and he keeps wandering circles in Four’s bedroom like a distressed animal. 

He ought to get some sleep. 

His head hurts. His bedsheets are all messed up from when Six came in and sat down. Beneath his bed, he can see the corner of his traced snake and ladders game poking out.

Next to it is one of the textbooks he took from class for revision. 

He can’t play snakes and ladders by himself, so Four reaches down, pulls up the textbook onto his bed - one made for the Academy, or by Reginald and Pogo maybe, because it’s got the similar cartoony diagrams of close combat that are up in the hallway outside their bedrooms - and, with one hand pressed over one of his ears, Four tries to read. 

He ends up falling asleep curled over the book just as the sun is beginning to rise, too tired to concentrate on the book and to be kept awake by the consistent groaning and crying and pacing in his bedroom. He’s getting used to that now, although it doesn’t seem to ever really get better, or easier, falling asleep to that, but it’s not as if he has any other choice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone get this boy some headphones :(


End file.
